Dusk
by kedavra97
Summary: No time travel. No time turners. Hermione is a muggleborn transfer student to 1940's era Hogwarts, posing as a pureblood witch. If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. AU. Dark!Tom.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Hey guys. I decided to write a new fic as I continue to work on my other ones. I just got this idea in my head and I had to write it out. And a huge thank you to my unofficial beta soccer6. Enjoy :)_**

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_August 30, 1941_

The porcelain mirror reflected a scowl back at the girl, right before a comb was thrown at it.

_Why won't my hair work with me just this once?_

She sat at the armoire in her room, trying to pin her waist-length curls into one of the styles she'd seen sophisticated women wear back in Paris. Tomorrow would be her first day visiting Hogwarts, and she was determined to make a good impression. Her mother always told her that first impressions made a tremendous impact on a young lady's future, so Hermione knew she had to make the most of her opportunity.

_If only my damned hair would be less frizzy! _

It's not like she cared much what other people at school, especially boys, thought about her appearance. Her mother may be concerned with her finding potential suitors, but she couldn't care less. She wanted to make something of herself – something that required her to move outside of the confines of the kitchen.

"Hermione!" her mother's shrill voice called. "Come downstairs for supper!"

"In a minute!" she yelled back.

After quickly deciding to give up on crafting her hair into perfectly bouncy curls, Hermione placed the last of her textbooks into her school trunk. Her schedule as a Hogwarts fifth-year was much different from her schedule at Beauxbatons. But, she grimly reminded herself, she should be lucky to have gotten the chance to attend Beauxbatons at all, what with her _predicament_.

Just thinking about it made her blood boil. The prestigious all-girls wizarding academy had welcomed her with open arms as a first-year, and she had astonished all of those pompous purebloods with her impeccable grades.

But now, with the Dark Lord rising and taking over the French ministry, the headmistress had deemed the school unsafe for her, and had coordinated her transfer with the Hogwarts headmaster.

Hermione knew that her headmistress had done it with the best intentions. But she was tired of being separated into a different class than her pureblood counterparts. Too often she had felt the bitterness at hearing her teachers remark, "If only she were a pureblood … or at least a halfblood …"

She would show them all.

* * *

August 31, 1941

Hermione said goodbye to her parents at a nearly empty platform 9 and ¾, seeing as the majority of the student population wouldn't be arriving until tomorrow. She could hardly fathom how busy the platform would be in a mere 24 hours.

Hogwarts, while opening officially for classes on the 1st of September, operated the Express the day before for the handful of students who, for whatever reason, needed to be at the school ahead of time.

Hermione had a meeting with Headmaster Dippet. She could only wonder what the other boy – the only other person boarding the train – needed to arrive early for.

She took in his tall, lean body and midnight hair. _He's at least a foot taller than me,_ she thought with a private twinge of annoyance at her small frame.

He stepped onto the train, and Hermione followed him, thinking it odd to sit in separate areas since they were the only two on board. She might as well make conversation – perhaps, if she played her cards right, she could even make a new friend.

At Beauxbatons, she did not have many friends. It was a fact she was always a bit defensive about. Most girls her age were interested in suitors, or their hair and nails. When they found out Hermione cared more about brains than beauty, she was quickly cast out. She fervently hoped that girls at Hogwarts would be different than the she-beasts at Beauxbatons.

She was also interested – and slightly anxious – to finally go to a school with boys. Her time at Beauxbatons only fostered an intense annoyance with her own gender, so perhaps she was meant to make friends with boys her age.

The boy in question made his way into one of the private sitting rooms on board, setting his trunk down on the bench. She tapped on the glass.

"Have room for one more?" she said with what she hoped was a friendly, charming smile.

He turned around abruptly, and she caught sight of his surprised gray-blue eyes, framed with thick eyelashes, for the first time. Involuntarily, she acknowledged that he certainly was a handsome boy.

"Sure," he said with an alluring smile, moving his trunk off of the seat.

Hermione stepped into the seating area, letting the thin glass door slide shut behind her. She took her seat beside the boy.

"I'm new at Hogwarts this year," she explained, noticing his puzzled look.

"That explains why I didn't recognize you," he said with an easy-going smile. "I'm Tom."

"I'm Hermione," she said, omitting her last name as he did.

"What brings you to Hogwarts a day early?" he asked politely.

"I have to meet with the headmaster. Probably to go over etiquette, school rules or something similar," she said with a wave of her hand. "But it's pretty pointless anyway – I've read Hogwarts: A History at least four times by now."

A light blush tinged Hermione's cheeks. _Great. He probably thinks I'm some freakish bookworm now._

Inwardly, Tom was surprised. He had only met a handful of students with a love of the written word – mostly Ravenclaw nerds – and certainly not many girls. He plastered a polite mask on his face.

"Ah," he said. "I've always loved that book. I remember reading it plenty of times when I first found out I was accepted."

Hermione smiled at him shyly. She found herself growing increasingly curious about the extremely handsome, calculating, mysterious boy before her.

"How did you find out you were accepted?" she queried.

Immediately, bursts of memories Tom had long buried sprang forth. _Dumbledore, in his stupid magenta robes, sitting down and saying those life-changing words. The man's condescending, senseless demeanor. Treating me like I was some insignificant mudb-_

"By letter, of course," he replied, choosing comedy as his method of evasion.

She huffed, amused. "Well, how did you feel when you found out?"

"I felt…" Tom's brow furrowed. No one ever really asked him about his feelings, and he wasn't too accustomed to identifying them.

"Happy," he finally settled on.

Hermione smiled at him. "I did too."

The cozy room was filled with the comforting sound of raindrops pelting the glass window. Hermione felt completely at ease.

Recovering from his odd behavior, Tom remembered his plan to interrogate the girl.

"So," he began, schooling his voice into a tone of nonchalance, "What school did you attend before coming to Hogwarts?"

"Beauxbatons. I'll be a fifth-year this year," she added, sensing the upcoming question.

"Then it seems we'll be seeing a lot of each other. I'll be a fifth-year as well."

"What house are you in? I read a lot about the sorting system in Hogwarts: A History, and I find it quite fascinating," she said, her excitement leaking into her voice.

Tom smirked. "Why, I'm in the best house Hogwarts has to offer."

Hermione gave him a playful shove. "Will you just tell me?"

"You'll have to guess."

"Fine. Let's see …," she mused. "You're slightly arrogant, good at hiding your emotions, and you give cryptic responses meant to reveal more about me than yourself. You're a Slytherin," she declared.

Again, the girl surprised him. It wasn't just the bluntness with which she dared speak to him, but also her deductive skills. _If she didn't turn into a mindless dolt like the rest of Hogwarts' female population, she may find herself a place among his Knights._

After she learned her place, of course.

"You're very intelligent," he said smoothly. Flattery worked on every girl, and Hermione was no exception. "So you admit that Slytherin is the best house?"

Hermione burst into a peal of laughter. "Your words, not mine."

"Oh? Then which house would you like to be sorted into?"

The girl's face morphed into the picture of seriousness, as if she had given the topic a great deal of thought.

"Well, don't get me wrong, each of the houses has its own merits, but I honestly believe I will be sorted into Ravenclaw."

He turned away, glancing at the raindrops cascading down the window pane.

"I think you're wrong," he murmured.

* * *

After her eventful train ride, Hermione felt even more excited at the prospect of attending Hogwarts. If her peers were half as interesting as Tom was, she would have an amazing time.

She thought back to the strange boy, who cryptically bid her goodbye as soon as the train reached its destination, leaving the compartment with haste. She had tried to quickly gather her things and keep pace with him to see where he was going, but as she stepped off the train, he was nowhere to be found.

_Oh well, I'll certainly see him tomorrow,_ she reminded herself.

Hermione said the password to the gargoyle in front of the headmaster's office and ascended the steps to enter. It was a good thing all of these peculiarities had been explained in her Hogwarts letter, or she would have been extremely confused finding her way into the office.

The first thing her eyes focused on were dress robes. Bright, almost neon yellow dress robes.

She cleared her throat quietly, waiting for the man to turn around.

"Ah! You must be Miss Granger," the man said with a smile. "Please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable."

Hermione took a seat in front of the immense oak desk, liking the man's friendly aura immediately. He had auburn hair, a matching ginger-colored beard, and warm blue bespectacled eyes.

He took a seat behind the desk. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I teach Transfiguration here at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Headmaster Dippet was unable to arrive early as he had some family matters to attend to. But nevertheless, I am here to assist you in accommodating to Hogwarts."

After a brief explanation of what not to do at Hogwarts – like go near the Whomping Willow or venture into the Forbidden Forest – he began explaining how the sorting ceremony would pan out.

"Armando and I decided against having a private sorting ceremony for you. We have very rarely had an older transfer student at Hogwarts, but we felt it against school tradition to sort you separately."

Noticing her nervous look, he quickly added, "But there is nothing to be anxious about. There will simply be a line of first years, and you will be sorted last. And I trust that your future housemates will be quite pleased by your admittance," he said, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said.

Dumbledore smiled back at her. "Now, there comes the matter of your heritage."

As if a switch was flicked on, Hermione lost her easy-going demeanor, holding herself more rigidly than before.

"My heritage, sir?"

"Yes. Headmistress Durand transferred you here for your own safety." His blue eyes darkened, losing their twinkle. "With Grindelwald gaining power in France, your presence as a muggleborn at Beauxbatons was unsafe. I think nothing against your blood status, Hermione, but you must acknowledge that you are safer here at Hogwarts."

Hermione let out a puff of air, deflated. "Yes sir, I do know that. And I'm grateful that Headmistress Durand thought of my safety."

"We are thinking of your safety here at Hogwarts as well. It is only a matter of time before Grindelwald gains power in England, and thus threatens the safety of Hogwarts' muggleborn students," he said. "That is why the headmaster and I thought it best for you to pose as a pureblood witch."

There was a sharp intake of breath.

"Now I know that this may be shocking and completely perverse to you, a witch who carries her blood status with such pride, but we have an opportunity to shelter you in a way that we cannot shelter other muggleborns."

Hermione, swallowing her shock, questioned shakily, "How so?"

"When we sort students into the school, we keep a running roster of everything about them – socioeconomic standing, age, gender, and of course, blood status. As you are a transfer student, Miss Granger, nothing will be entered under your name on the roster until you are sorted tomorrow," he explained.

Hermione sat quietly, taking in this newfound information and already formulating dozens of question.

"And so," the professor continued, "While other muggleborns will need to evacuate the school if there is an emergency, you will not have to. Their heritage is common knowledge, while you are the mysterious transfer student," he said, smiling.

"I understand your reasoning, sir. But I do not wish to hide who I am – for any reason!" Hermione said firmly.

For a moment, Dumbledore's eyes appeared calculating, but the twinkle in them returned.

"I admire your pride, Hermione. But there is an incident you should hear about before you decide against hiding your blood status."

Against her will, Hermione felt the pangs of curiosity within her. "What is it?"

"Last year, the chamber of secrets was opened. The chamber is a-"

Hermione gasped. "But according to legend, isn't the heir of Slytherin only capable of opening the chamber?"

If Dumbledore was surprised at her knowledge, he didn't show it. "You are a very knowledgeable girl, Hermione."

Hermione blushed at the compliment.

"Yes," he continued, eyes darkening again. "Someone opened the chamber and released a basilisk upon the school. For weeks our muggleborn population had to live with the dread of being pursued by a monster. A student was even killed," he said somberly.

Hermione tried not to show her shock. "We didn't hear about all this in France," she murmured.

"Just because the threat of Grindelwald is not so evident in England does not mean muggleborns do not still face persecution," he said gently. "I ask you once more to reconsider your position."

Hermione pursed her lips. Yes, she took pride in her muggleborn heritage and wanted to show these pureblood snobs that blood purity was a rubbish notion, but she also wanted to live to make sure she made an impact. And she did not come all the way from France only to be transferred to another school.

"Alright Professor," she said. "I'll pose as a pureblood."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "The headmaster and I have already considered who you will be posing as, and your family background. There is a French pureblood family, the Laurents, who we reached out to and are willing to corroborate your story. The Laurents are an old couple – they had a daughter many years ago who died of dragon pox. She would have been roughly your age today."

"That's very sad," Hermione intoned. "So would I be able to keep my first name?"

"Yes, the Laurents are not quite so prominent in social circles, and they are one of the lesser known pureblood families. So it would not be a huge shock to the public that they have a daughter named Hermione."

After teaching Hermione the basics of her background – where she grew up, her parents' names, the basics of the French region she'd claim to be from, the reason why she had a British accent – Dumbledore assured Hermione of his confidence in their plan.

"Before you go, I'd just like to inquire about your ride over here," Dumbledore pleasantly remarked. "I trust the train suited you?"

"Oh yes!" Hermione said. "But the ride would have been boring if not for Tom."

As soon as his one-syllable name flew out of her lips, Dumbledore's features darkened imperceptibly. The change escaped Hermione's notice.

"Thank you so much for all this time you've spent with me, Professor. I'm excited to be in your classes Monday morning!" Hermione said eagerly. "And I won't forget to introduce myself as Hermione Laurent."

Dumbledore, recovering himself, decided to save his warning against Hermione befriending Tom for later. _One train ride isn't going to make them joined at the hip, _he calmed himself.

Oh, how wrong he would be.

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**Like it? Hate it? Questions? Please review! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! ****A huge thank you to PinkSlytherin, sKyLaR KnIgHt, Guest, Voorpret, who-need's-a-hero12, Obey the Muse, and em.**

**By the way, this is gonna be a long fic.**

**Since I didn't already mention it - Disclaimer: This is all property of Queen Rowling, not mine.**

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The night before her sorting, Hermione encountered the first of many sleepless nights.

She tossed and turned in the thin sheets, legs entangling the satin fabric. The sorting ceremony loomed before her like an ominous cloud. Other students may let their whole futures be laid out by some stupid hat, but she wouldn't allow it. Her destiny was hers to mold. She wouldn't let anyone or any object dictate her fate.

And as much as she tried to keep him off her mind, her thoughts kept returning to Tom. It was his angular, handsome face that greeted her eyes when she finally succumbed to sleep.

* * *

Hermione awoke with a start. She leapt out of bed, nearly breaking a leg in the process, eyes bulging at the blaring _6:30_ on her clock.

The sorting would begin at 7:00! _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Hermione chastised herself, scrambling to put on her uniform.

She yanked a hand through her mussed curls, knowing the comb would only make them frizzier. Stepping in front of the mirror, she was pleased that the sight which greeted her eyes wasn't the ogre she expected. Applying a dab of lip gloss, she gave her reflection one last nervous glance and headed out the door.

_First impressions, first impressions_, her mother ominously chanted.

Hermione made her way to the Entrance Hall, nearly getting lost twice, before hearing the cacophony of students. She pushed through throngs of girls hugging each other and first years wandering aimlessly. Finally, her eyes landed on a person who she assumed to be a professor - a tall, thin woman with a stern expression.

"Professor, I'm a new transfer student, and I'm supposed to be sorted. Can you point me to where I should go?"

"Oh," the woman's flustered face softened slightly, "you must be Ms. Laurent! Albus has spoken so highly of you. Right this way," she said with a jerk of her head, raven hair swaying.

Hermione jogged a little to keep up with the woman's fast pace. When they reached the doors to the Great Hall, all of the students were seated inside. Only Hermione, the professor, and a crowd of fidgety first years remained.

Before she could collect herself, the immense doors opened. All eyes pointed in her direction.

The headmaster was droning about welcoming the first years. There was a bored applause. Hermione's breath hitched.

"And," Dippet continued, "We have a new fifth year transfer student. I hope you all welcome Ms. Hermione Laurent to our school."

Hasty whispers broke out across the hall. Hermione was spontaneously greeted with friendly smiles, curious glances, and lecherous stares.

Dippet tapped on his glass in a failed attempt to gather attention. "Now, let's begin the sorting!"

Hermione watched in amazement as each first year scuttled over to the podium, sat on the stool, and the old hat shouted out house names. The butterflies in her stomach were in a frenzy when the line fizzled out, and only she remained to be sorted.

Utter silence. All eyes were transfixed on her. Outside the white noise, Hermione wondered where Tom sat. Her eyes roved over the student body. She didn't see him.

Gathering the last of her courage, Hermione strode over to the stool, her back erect and proud. She sat down with as much grace as she could muster, squeezing her eyes shut when the delicate weight of the hat pressed against her skull.

_A peculiar case we have here, indeed. Certainly not the first witch Hogwarts has seen pose as someone she is not._

Hermione gasped at the mental intrusion. The thing could talk?

If hat's could chuckle, she'd bet the blasted thing was doing just that. _Only you can hear me. Now, where to sort you?  
_  
_Hmm... you are loyal, but I do not think Hufflepuff would suit you. Definitely smart and clever enough for Ravenclaw...  
_  
_But you do have courage and nobility, maybe I should make a lion of you...  
_  
There were some titters and mutters in the crowd. What was taking so long?

_Or perhaps in Slytherin, you'd meet your real friends. Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends.  
_  
Hermione involuntarily thought of Tom. _Ah_, the hat seemed to say knowingly, _the decision is made._

SLYTHERIN!

A hush fell over the crowd, followed by quiet applause at the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin tables. While much of the population eyed her curiously, the Gryffindors largely ignored her, already deciding her character – _not one of them. _

Hermione plastered a pleasant smile on her face as she made her way over to the Slytherin table. Her polished shoes _click clacked_ against the floor.

Desperation mounting at seeing no open seat, Hermione nearly plucked up the nerve to ask a kid to scoot over, when a familiar face turned around and beckoned her.

"Hermione," Tom said, "come and sit with us."

She couldn't tell if it was a request or an order, but she was grateful nonetheless.

A lesser socially important student was booted from his seat across from Tom. Hermione slid in place.

"This is Hermione. We met on the train," Tom explained to the boys sitting near him. Girls sitting further down the table eyed Hermione with envy and dislike.

With Tom's opening, the boys' inquisitive stares became more polite.

"I'm Alphard, fifth year as well. Nice to meet you," a charming raven-haired boy said, smiling. "This is Avery, Mulciber, Reginald, and Abraxas," he concluded, pointing a finger this way and that.

The stoic-looking boys managed small grunts, smiles, or leers in her direction. Hermione swallowed nervously, eyes flittering about. Tom's coal-black eyes were glued to her.

"It's nice to meet you all. I'm very excited to be in Slytherin house."

"And aren't we excited to have you," Tom murmured.

"What school are you coming from?" Alphard queried.

"Beauxbatons. My parents asked I be transferred here, given the current climate in France."

The boy with platinum blonde, shoulder-length hair - _Abraxas, was it?_ - spoke up in a cold, flint voice. "And who might those parents be?"

Tom leaned forward slightly in his seat.

"The Laurents. An old family, I assure you," she replied, voice equally steely.

With the knowledge that she was safe, _one of them_, the boys visibly relaxed. Abraxas's demeanor grew slightly less icy.

"I don't know many French girls with British accents," Tom said.

"Well, you're looking at one," Hermione said cheekily.

Tom's eyes hardened slightly. The boys around stiffened. Sensing she had pushed the wrong buttons, Hermione hastily said, "I spent the first 10 years of my life living here in Britain with my parents on account of Father's job at the Ministry. When I was 11, he was transferred back to France, where my family is originally from. So I attended Beauxbatons."

Everyone seemed to accept her rehearsed explanation. Dippet must have concluded the feast, because students around her were getting to their feet.

"See you around, Hermione," Alphard said. The boys got up and walked off to their dorms, she assumed.

Hermione stood, glancing around for anyone who could take her to the Slytherin common room. She tentatively stepped towards a group of girls her age.

She cleared her throat softly. A tall girl with sleek brown hair turned around.

"Hi, I'm Hermione. I was hoping one of you could point me in the direction of our common room."

"Of course! All of us here have been _so_ excited to meet you. Haven't we, girls?" The girls nodded their heads quickly.

"I'm Druella Black, by the way," the brown-haired girl said. She seemed to be the leader of the little posse. "This is Rosalie, Emilia, and Larissa."

After short greetings, Hermione followed after the group. They walked down lots of steps. _It's no wonder they call it the dungeons._

After Druella hissed a password at a seemingly normal stone wall, a passageway leading to the common room opened. Hermione gaped at the opulence of the room. Students who hadn't already lugged their trunks up to their dorms lounged on the fine black-leather sofas. The room was dark, with greenish light flickering in from the window. _That's coming from the lake_, Hermione reminded herself. She knew reading Hogwarts: A History would come in handy.

"You're actually rooming with us. We've got a quad this year," Druella said, eyes roving over a sheet she got from a Prefect.

"How fun!" Larissa said cheerfully, blonde ringlets bouncing.

"Let's get up there now and set our stuff down," Emilia added.

After a flight up the stairs, Hermione arrived in the room she would call home for the rest of the year. There were four immense four-poster canopy beds, a plush rug to protect precious bare pureblood feet from the stone cold floor, armoires and mirrors, and a roaring fireplace.

"Wow, this is a lot different than Beaux-"

The door slammed. Hermione whipped around, watching as Druella and the girls advanced on her, expressions cold.

"Look," Druella began, stepping forward. "I know Tom and the boys seem quite taken by you. But just remember, you're new here. Fresh meat. That's all the attraction is. If you want one of them, you've got to work up the social ladder, same as we did."

Hermione swallowed, confused. _Did she just get compared to meat?_

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she confessed.

"Druella's had a thing for Tom since like, first year!" Rosalie exclaimed. "And he's finally started to reciprocate. You may be a pureblood and a pretty thing, but it's just," she fumbled for the words, "…girl code."

"You can't just waltz in here and try to steal another girl's man," Larissa added, her tone slightly softer, as if she was trying to explain something to a daft child.

_And just when I thought girls here would be different_, Hermione inwardly sighed. _It's a good thing I have such experience in this arena. Even if I don't befriend these banshees, I should at least make nice with them. _

"Girls, girls," Hermione began softly, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not after anyone's man. I was offered a seat by Tom, and I took it. It would have been rude not to."

She took a seat on one of the beds, perching on the edge. "I totally understand girl code. Rest assured, I will not steal any of your guys."

The idiot girls nodded their dumb heads, looking deflated and assured. Druella's countenance still seemed stony.

"So," Larissa began, forgetting all about her previous rudeness, "what are the latest fashions in Paris?"

Hermione rolled her eyes inwardly. _It's going to be a long year._

* * *

**Sorry there wasn't too much of Tom in this chapter. Just you wait.**

**What characters would you like to see in coming chapters? Please review - I LOVE all reviews, especially constructive criticism.**


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